


Doppelgänger

by KeyPea



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Doppelganger, Forgery, M/M, clone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyPea/pseuds/KeyPea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you were alone in a room with your clone... would you fight or fuck yourself?" </p>
<p>There's a room in a dream, with a forger and a point man standing in it, and Eames issues Arthur a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doppelgänger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Deadly Art of Forgery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/710343) by [KeyPea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyPea/pseuds/KeyPea). 



Arthur had been in a dream before with Eames, but this time they weren’t on the job, and there were no boundaries, no mission objectives and certainly no tourists. There was just a blank room in a dream, with a forger and a point-man standing in it.

The point-man was the first to furnish in some details; a pair of very square, very symmetrical chairs pointed diagonally towards each other, a neat coffee table with some blank magazines arranged on it in a fan, and a forgettable carpet that blended into the nondescript walls. It was purely minimalist, purely functional, and so very Arthur.

Eames chuckled softly, and Arthur turned to glare at the crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Out of the corner of his own eye, he noticed one of the chairs was now an antique wingback armchair that looked as if the leather would creak when you sat in it. A rich rug grew under the coffee table in a gaudy arrangement of colours and shapes as he watched. One of the magazines became a dog-eared newspaper.

“I’ll give you that,” Arthur shrugged, toeing the wonderfully soft pile and wondering when his shoes had become unlaced and placed neatly next to the armchair. He gazed carelessly at the wall where a modern fireplace emerged - a smooth stone mantelpiece with a few angles and a stand-out centrepiece, with a huge plate mirror mounted above it.

“I’ll give you that,” Eames’ mouth quirked as he evaluated the mantelpiece, and the mirror above it which was now dressed in an ornate gilt frame.

Arthur went to stand in front of the mirror to admire Eames’ handiwork. “Not bad,” he admitted. “If you keep changing things though, it won’t be long before projections take offense.”

“Relax. In this fortress there’s no-one here but us, and it’ll stay that way. Nothing to take offense to.” Eames came over to stand just behind Arthur and look into the mirror. He grinned cheekily at the point-man’s reflection and started, “so the million quid question...”

“Quid?” Arthur crinkled his nose. “Could you get any more English?”

“Dollar, then. The million _dollar_ question. If you were alone in a room with your clone, no chance of anyone finding out what happens, and the clone would disappear afterwards... would you fight or fuck yourself?”

“What?!” Arthur laughed, entirely unprepared for the proposition. “I’m not in a room with my clone, I’m in a room with...” He broke off as he glanced at the reflection of the man next to him; it had been Eames, but now...

“Me,” it said, in a slightly husky voice. “I may not be a clone, but I’m a damn good forger.”

“Incredible,” Arthur gasped, wrenching his eyes away from the mirror to face the Eames-version of himself. It was an uncanny resemblance, right down to the one hair on his parting that would never stay straight, and the way he stood, favouring his left foot slightly to balance and thus affecting the way his suit draped. 

The real Arthur instinctively reached for the fake Arthur’s hand, to check if the palm-scar was there from a silly accident he’d had as a kid, but the clone spread his hands out of reach and stepped slowly backwards in an irritating mannerism that was all Eames.

“Oh, let me take a closer look,” Arthur pleaded, but his copy grinned back at him boyishly.

“I asked you a question,” he said. “Fight or fuck?”

Arthur shook his head and pursed his lips, although not in an entirely displeased way. “It’s an excellent forgery. I’m impressed, really.”

“I’m not impressed with how tightly your suits are cut,” Eames moaned, tugging at his restrictive collar. “Just you take your time and think about the question whilst I make a few changes.” He unbuttoned the jacket and rolled his shoulders, wincing as the tie choked him. It was off in seconds and he dangled it through his fingers before dropping it on the floor, winking at the real Arthur as he undid the top button, then the second.

“Oh that’s better darling,” Eames sighed, massaging his throat as he stretched his neck, exposing the dimple there. Arthur swallowed heavily; the adam’s apple on his forgery was also a perfect match.

“Eames,” he warned, but it appeared the forger was having far too much fun undressing the meticulous Arthur as the jacket crumpled to join the tie on the floor and the hand that hadn’t gone back to stroking his throat came up to sweep through the neatly combed hair.

“You should consider stretching more often,” Eames remarked, lacing his fingers together and reaching up as far as he could, standing on slight tiptoe to get the full effect.

As the shirt on his clone came un-tucked and rode up to expose his abdomen, Arthur flushed, hardly allowing himself to wonder if the forgery would be as accurate once _all_ his clothes came off...

“Eames!” He protested, annoyed at himself for being led into thinking in this manner.

The doppelganger let his arms fall and stood with his hands by his sides, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels.

“Yes love?” He asked innocently, a phrase that sounded odd coming from the Arthur copy. Delighted when he saw the blush painting the point-man’s cheeks, he exclaimed “are we going to fight then?”

“No,” Arthur snapped, lunging forwards to gather up his jacket and tie and attempting to stuff the shirt back into the waistband of his clone, but the belt was too tight. Frustrated, he dropped the clothes and used two hands, only to find the clone’s hands skimming his.

Surprised, he stopped wrestling the material and stood up straighter, looking up into the face of his forgery now he had a closer view. It was remarkable how much Eames had managed copy when it hadn’t appeared as if he’d been particularly studying Arthur; jobs they’d had to pull off had required far more surveillance of the mark in question in order to get all the details accurate.

Detail was Arthur’s territory, and he caught the forgery’s hand now to check the scar, which of course was there. He traced the unique lines on the hands and felt his annoyance melting away, the action as soothing as if it was his own palms being stroked.

He looked up into the other Arthur’s face again and saw it reflecting his smile, with just a hint of cheekiness that still reminded him very much of the Englishman inside. Instinctively, he left the hand alone and reached for the face instead, feeling the familiar cheekbones he massaged moisturiser into after every shower. The skin was as soft as his own and he couldn’t help but think of Eames’ question as he glanced briefly at the lips.

Boldly, for the body in front of him was his own, he dragged his thumb across them and was pleased when they were plump and shapely, with no cracks. He’d felt silly using a lip balm even in private, but now managed to justify the decision; they could be his best asset.

Doppelganger Arthur’s eyes flickered to the coffee table, which appeared to have grown larger, and the real Arthur followed the gaze as he let his hand fall. The clone would be thrown down onto it in a moment, he knew, but whether to fight or fuck...?

“Got an answer to my question yet?” Eames purred, and Arthur seized his arms, and the opportunity that went with it. Back they both staggered, managing to miss both of the armchairs that were currently obstacles, until the clone Arthur’s backside hit the table and he collapsed gracefully onto it, hands flung backwards to steady himself in a sitting position.

There was barely time to anticipate which route Arthur was taking as he flung off his own jacket and loosened his tie, before he violently straddled his copy in a tangle of arms and legs. His look was intense as he swept off the magazines and newspaper before taking a firm hold of the perfectly forged face and bringing his lips to it in a crushing kiss.

A gasp escaped both of them at the contact, with the real Arthur moving his hand to knot in the hair of his doppelganger and keep him where he wanted him as he fiercely deepened the intimacy of the encounter, shifting his hips closer against a body that was the mirror of his own as he tested the lips again and again, pulling back between each kiss to groan and bite his own lips at how good it tasted.

Giddy over the surreal prospect of having another self and desperate to discover how far the illusion spread when kissing him was no longer enough, Arthur did something he might never have done usually. Gripping the lapels of the shirt that gaped with two buttons undone on his clone, only a glint in Arthur’s eye gave any warning before he wrenched the material apart, the buttons slipping easily through the holes of the expensive fabric, though the bottom button sounded a little like it was ripped off as Arthur impatiently tugged at it.

The button was forgotten immediately as Arthur paused, fascinated at the exposed torso. Reaching out, slightly hesitantly now, he stroked the shapely abdomen as if he couldn’t believe it looked that good.

“You have a fantastic body, sweetheart,” the copy murmured, leaning heavily back on his hands to allow Arthur an unhindered view.

“Me,” Arthur repeated, playing with the other Arthur’s belt buckle now, as stunned as if he’d just realised the man he was dominating wasn’t really himself. “Eames, what am I...”

“Shhh,” the forgery soothed, finally moving a hand to settle at Arthur’s lower back and stroking idly as the point-man unconsciously continued to snake the belt out of the loops. “Just kiss me again.”

Arthur did as he was bid, far more gently now, taking his time as he pressed his lips cautiously to the other Arthur’s, feeling both his hands slide around his back to nestle him close. Encouraged, he parted his lips, and the tongue that met his felt different to his own; slightly rougher and sweeter, as if the owner was fond of eating rich chocolates. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, so he continued eagerly, lingering on the bottom lip as if to test its authenticity. At the same time he grew aware of another difference in the hips that he was gripping between his thighs, they were wider than they had been, and a different shape. The legs beneath him were thicker, more muscular, and his curiosity returned.

Opening his eyes, he pulled back to see Eames grinning back at him, the forgery gone to be replaced by the other man Arthur knew, but with his shirt hanging open and his belt removed just the same.

“Good answer,” he teased, and Arthur blushed, embarrassed to have been so taken in by his own image, and uncomfortably aware the evidence of how much he’d been enjoying their encounter was held down only by his own belt.

Eames seemed aware of it and wasn’t at all ashamed to scoot forwards on the table, holding Arthur where he was so he could feel that Eames was undeniably in the same position. A small laugh that sounded more like a whimper escaped Arthur’s lips as he ached to continue.

He was not disappointed, Eames bringing his hands under him to cradle his backside as he stood and lifted Arthur easily, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “lovely arse,” as he crossed the room to lay Arthur down on a gloriously soft bed with an ornate canopy above it...

“I suppose you put this in here,” Arthur laughed, his air rushing from him in a breathy sigh as the mattress enveloped him in a most soothing manner.

“Couldn’t you tell by the design? It’s an antique,” Eames winked, taking a moment to appreciate how lovely Arthur looked on his back as he leaned against one of the tall posts supporting the canopy. In response, Arthur reached down and idly unbuckled his belt with one hand, pausing as if to invite Eames to finish what he’d started.

“Where were we, love?” He teased.

OOO

When the pair awoke on the floor, Arthur fingered his totem in his pocket, wincing as his suit restricted his movements. He caught Eames gazing at him curiously as he loosened his tie, and privately wondered if the forger was as ready to go again as he was.

“Next time I’m going to make you fight me first,” Eames challenged, a smug smile playing about his lips as he appeared to read the point-man’s mind.

“Next time I want to see all the details,” Arthur raised an eyebrow, returning the grin.

To seal the deal, he reached over to capture the forger’s lips in a crushing kiss, full of promises.

**Author's Note:**

> I once wrote an Inception adventure (gen) fic (called 'The Deadly Art of Forgery') about Arthur and Eames working on a side job together. In one chapter, Eames makes a forgery of Arthur in a dream and things quickly escalate. The idea of him undressing the copy of Arthur did not leave me, so my curiosity eventually came to be satisfied in this spin-off.


End file.
